


Drabbles

by ayjee



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-18 11:47:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4704911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayjee/pseuds/ayjee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of DA:I drabbles, some un-beta'ed. See chapter titles for ships/characters</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Crossing the Hinterlands (Varric, Inquisitor)

“Watch out,” Cassandra shouts. Too late; the templar’s shield meets her head with a deafening clang. Ositha lands flat on her ass in the muddy grass, the rest of the fight an undignified blur of noise and headache.

“Seeker did try to warn you.” Varric sounds like an annoyed mother hen. “Why didn’t you dodge? Have you never fought templars before?”

“Of course not,” Ositha retorts, “have you?”

Varric lets out a dramatic sigh, but his eyes are twinkling. “Ah, but this is a story for another time, Herald. Preferably involving beer and better company.”

“I heard that,” Cassandra calls irritably.


	2. Delightful (Samson, ser Morris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today Samson crashes the inquisitor’s masquerade ball.

Ser Morris can’t place the mask, but the clothing is exquisite. Samite, leather, a pipe carved in ivory and, Maker, dragon scales? Something about the man’s posture is off, though. And his chin beard is – scraggly.

“By the Lady! It’s so dark out there, I didn’t see you. Can I help you with anything, monsieur?”

“Piss off,” the man replies in a thick marcher accent, blowing smoke through his nose.

“Of course,” Morris says gracefully, heading back inside.

If the Inquisitor wants to party with lowborns, who is he to judge? She _is_ from the Free Marches after all.


	3. Low-key (Florianne x Erimond, explicit)

Sometimes when she’s not in the mood for elaborate games, she’ll tie him down to that ridiculous chair and fuck herself on his cock in long, langorous strokes, the stimulation just enough for him to stay hard. He never complains though. Not when she tugs hard on his hair as her movements become more hurried, not even when she bites his shoulder as she comes. He knows he’ll bear her mark for days and this is what does it for him. This, and her hand on his cheek as she watches him tug at his cock with hands numb from the restraints.


	4. Epistolary (Samson x Inquisitor, explicit)

“Inquisitor, a message for you.”

“From Leliana?”

“From Samson.”

Ignoring Sera’s derisive snort, Ositha unfolds the piece of parchment.

_My right worthy and worshipful lady Inquisitor, I recommend me to you._

Ositha smirks; oh, but Samson went all out. To annoy Cullen, no doubt, who would’ve asked to read the letter before consenting to send it. Following an equally flowery introduction is a short note on the new troops’ progresses. She's surprised Samson even bothered with a written report, but beneath his gruff exterior, the man does take pride in a job well done. Ositha chews her bottom lip pensively.

_… I would also like to note that Dagna has made no progress in her understanding of ‘my condition’. Why hasn’t corruption kicked in yet? How long will it take? Can something even be done about it? Her answer never varies: “Let us find out!”_

_If you ask me, she is a fraud._

_May the Maker preserve you in safety,_

_Your most bounden and devoted,_

_S._

Looking at his messy handwriting, Ositha thinks of Samson’s hands; blue veins, old scars and sharp bones. Steadier now, as they reach to undo the clasp of her breastplate. Gentle as they scratch the short hair at the base of her skull. Firm as they grip her thighs while he finishes her off with his mouth.

“If you don’t stop making that face, I’m going to puke,” Sera calls, her voice dripping with disgust. Blackwall’s laugh tints her ears red as Ositha folds the note back and hurriedly tucks it under her belt.


	5. (not quite) love at first sight (Samson, Inquisitor)

The inquisitor sits in black for his judgement. With its high collar and minimalist ruffles, the stern Marcher outfit makes her look even smaller than she already is. Her face is a mess, one eye closed under swollen pink flesh, scratched cheekbone and bruised jaw. A great fight, Samson recalls, and smiles to himself. How good it had felt to smash her face through that silly orlesian helmet. He’s surprised she didn’t lose the eye.

Her voice is even, if a bit tired. She tries hard to squeeze regret out of him. Maker, she even mentions Maddox. Samson just shrugs it off. The guilt and grief are his alone, and he won’t share them with the inquisitor, of all people.


	6. De nomina (Samson, Inquisitor)

“Ositha.” Samson rolled the name around his mouth, washed it down with a gulp from his pouch. “Doesn’t have a very Marcher ring to it.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Isn’t Marcher nobility pretty big on Marcher names? Whatever went through your folks’ head?”

“My mother picked names based on whatever nation she fancied at the time of our birth.”

Samson gave it a thought. “Let’s see… Antiva?”

“Exactly.”

“Any more Antiva tributes where you come from?”

Ositha gave a mock bow. “Just me, I’m afraid. We do have a Nevarran and a Tevinter, though.”

“Nobles,” Samson mumbled, and rolled his eyes.


	7. … sive gallus et mulier (Florianne, Erimond)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Florimond’s version of post-prison sex talk. Dialogue-only vignette.

“Guess who the Inquisitor is fucking now.”

“I don’t have to guess.”

“You don’t?”

“My little birds told me.”

“Oh… right.”

“Hmm.”

“Well, isn’t it the most ridiculous thing ever?”

“Most people tend to look ridiculous when they fuck.”

“You don’t mean that, amata.”

“Don’t I?”

“You have to admit they make quite an odd pair.”

“That they do.”

“Besides…”

“Yes?”

“She’s the Inquisitor.”

“So?”

“She delivered the fatal blow to the Master.”

“Not everyone has your undying loyalty, Livius.”

“Still. It hasn’t been a year.”

“Some would say it’s time to move on.”

“One doesn’t simply sleep with the enemy, amata!”

“No?”

“No!”

“Aren’t you jealous that you never got the chance?”

“Me? Jealous… of _Samson?_ ”

“I’m just saying-”

“Over some upstart wrench? Florianne, please.”

“The Trevelyan are in good standing with the nobility of the Free Marches. And this whole Inquisition business has done nothing but strengthen their influence, albeit undirectly.”

“I hate that I can hear the cogs turning in your head. And you know me, I’m all about power, but Old Gods I wouldn’t touch her in a thousand years.”

“No?”

“With that hair? And those eyes? Not a chance.”

“She does have that Marcher air about her.”

“Precisely. And last but not least, he’s old enough to be her father. Revolting.”

“Yeah. Imagine that.”


End file.
